There is still nightmares
by msmhtp
Summary: After Sherlock's return, John still has his nightmares. Not so dark what it sounds. Angst, but also fluffy. Beta by lozzabluebell
1. Nightmares

John was leaning on the door frame and watched the sleeping form of Sherlock. Usually, before everything that had happened, it was a rare sight, but it was like Sherlock hadn't slept at all the past few years that he was away. Now that he was back, he seemed to be always sleeping. John envied his friend, who seemed to sleep so well, being back at home, because John still had his nightmares. And he was more tired than ever.

With a sigh, he straightened up and moved towards the kitchen to make some tea to calm his nerves. He didn't put the light on, instead just making tea and remembering where everything was. When he turned to walk past the table, he swore when his leg hit the chair, and he pulled it away. In the sitting room, there were some lights that came from the street outside, and he slowly walked beside the window.

Outside, it was as quiet as inside the flat.

No people. No cars.

John sipped his tea.

Two weeks.

Sherlock had been back at home for two whole weeks now.

He didn't notice the silent movements at the door, and was startled when Sherlock spoke, still unused to someone else's presence.

And Sherlock's voice.

"John?"

John turned and smiled sadly. "Not morning yet."

"I can see that. Is everything alright?" Sherlock moved closer, and John could feel the tension around his friend, how unsure he was of what to do.

"Yes," John lied.

"No it isn't." Sherlock was now an arm's length away from him, and grabbed the teacup before it fell to the floor. John hadn't noticed how much his hand's were trembling.

"Just nightmares," John admitted, and flinched when Sherlock touched his arm lightly before retreating.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock seemed to be lost about what to say and do, and John turned away.

"I know, and I have forgiven you. It's okay now." But it wasn't okay. Not yet.

"John..." Sherlock hesitated, but fell silent. John looked outside, not seeing anything, his mind blank. Then he felt his friend's touch again and tensed. Sherlock slowly and carefully stepped closer, and before John realised it, Sherlock was hugging him, his face burrowed in John's neck.

"Sher..."

"Hush. I'm here, John," Sherlock murmured, and slowly John relaxed.

They stood there in the dark, Sherlock holding John, and for the first time after Sherlock had come back, John cried.

* * *

My eternal thanks to lozzabluebell who wanted to beta this story. Thank you :)


	2. Broken trust

He lowered John onto the couch, sat on the floor and watched how John drifted away. Carefully, his finger followed his jawline. There were still tears. How fragile John looked. Thin, ill, tired. He didn't know what to do, what to say. He had said more than enough.

_I'm sorry..._

_I know I hurt you..._

_If there had been more time..._

_Some other way to do it..._

_I have to protect you... _

_Forgive me..._

He had said it all. John had forgiven him. Of course he did. John was... John. Kind, bit naive, loyal. And to John, Sherlock had been someone who he could trust. And Sherlock had broken that trust. He just hoped that he could build it up again. He didn't want John to go and leave him behind.

_I left him behind._

_I need him._

It hurt to see how broken John was. He had never guessed, just assumed that John would be fine. John was a soldier. John was a doctor. John had friends to help him. He had never thought that their first meeting had actually saved John's life.

"He was standing there, holding his gun and... He said that it wasn't the first time that he'd thought about ending it all, the first time after you died." Mycroft's words had left Sherlock speechless, to think that he had caused that. But he couldn't take anything back, he had to see through his actions and return before it was too late. Mycroft had vowed to look after John until he returned back home.

It took another year.

A year thinking about what John would do to himself. Another year with Mycroft telling him what was happening to John. There was no good news.

And when Sherlock came back...

Oh, how angry John was. Sherlock was sure that he would feel that hit until his dying days, hear John's harsh words echoing through his mind. It had taken two men to take John down and two more days before John actually wanted to listen to his explanation. After that, John had just sat there, not saying anything. Calm John, who was always hard to deduce. And Sherlock had waited for his answer.

_Welcome home Sherlock. I missed you. _

And John had smiled, and Sherlock had thought that everything was alright.

They had moved back into Baker Street.

There was no circling around each other.

Sherlock sulked. John sighed. Sherlock ramped. John yelled.

But it wasn't. Everything wasn't alright.

Night after night he heard John's muffled screams and his quiet steps around the flat. He felt his eyes when he stood at Sherlock's door, watching.

Nightmares.

Sherlock didn't know what to do.

"Sherlock..." John's restless body turned, still in a deep sleep, and Sherlock took his hand, and simply held it.

"We are home, John. We are home," Sherlock whispered. And he sat there, on the cold floor, thinking would he get his John back ever again? He couldn't let John go, and he held his hand tightly in his own.


	3. Screaming

It felt… different.

Lestrade watched them worriedly. Sherlock; sharp movements, bit too sharp tongue, just too sharp eyes. John; still, waiting, watching, listening, waiting some more.

Like before.

But there still was something.

When Sherlock left with a shout, not noting anyone else's presence, John followed slowly, with patience, until he stopped in front of Lestrade.

"Sorry again." John suppressed his smile, not actually that sorry. Lestrade shook his head. "Good to have him back. You too."

This time John smiled. Still a bit sad and his smile was only thin. Still not okay?

"I info you if..."

"JOHN?!" Sherlock was back, like a whirlwind, and took a firm hold of John and dragged him away. "Don't disappear like that." Lestrade heard Sherlock scolding John.

"Sherl..."

"Shut up. Let me think."

And they were gone, and Lestrade couldn't get rid of the bad feeling inside his stomach.

#

Three days later, Lestrade stood beside Sherlock, who blamed himself. His voice was a bit too high, his eyes full of concern, and his moves still too sharp.

"I didn't notice! Why didn't I notice? It's all my fault..."

"Please, be still," the nurse sighed, as she tried to put some stitches in Sherlock's side. There was a nasty-looking knife wound there. Just a flesh wound, luckily.

"He's going to be okay," Lestrade tried, but Sherlock just huffed.

"He's in surgery. We don't know yet..."

"He's out. He's sleeping, but well," a new voice said, and they all looked up, noticing Mycroft standing there. "You can visit him as soon as you let them patch you up."

Sherlock relaxed, but then he frowned. Mycroft shifted his weight, leg to leg. It was unusual to see him nervous.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"His PTSD."

"They know that he..."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I mean. If he wakes alone from his nightmares..."

"I'll arrange for you to stay with him." Mycroft nodded, seeming to understand what was going on, and walked away.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade suddenly realised. "Has it gotten worse?"

Sherlock shut his eyes. It hurt to admit it. "Yes."

"After your..."

"Yes." Sherlock sounded defeated. He never sounded like that. "He refuses to go see his therapist, and I have to say, I agree with him. It doesn't work for John."

"Then, what does?"

Sherlock looked so lost, as he avoided looking at Lestrade.

"I... don't know."

#

That night, John woke up screaming.

And he couldn't stop.

He thrashed down on the bed, clutching his head in his hands, screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the noise of his dreams.

He had to stop.

He had to.

He was going mad.

He didn't notice Sherlock, who barged into the room to hold him.

"John, please. Please wake up."

He was awake, but he couldn't stop his screams. His mind was tearing him in pieces.

"John, I'm home. We're home. Everything's alright. It was just a nightmare, nothing more. You're tired, and the case was awful. I should have known. I'm sorry."

Why was everything going wrong now, when everything was going on just fine? Sherlock was back. The life that he'd missed so much was back again. He had his friends, and his work. Why were the nightmares still continuing? Why? Why? Why? John sobbed.

There were more voices, more people. He was lifted up.

"Dr. Watson? Can you hear me? We have to sedate you again. Your wound reopened, and..."

But John was drifting away.

His own mind was betraying him.

His whole body was betraying him.

More voices, louder now. Someone was yelling.

_Sherlock._

Sherlock was alive.

And John smiled.

#

Sherlock watched with shock at how John suddenly stopped.

No more screams.

He sighed lightly, and John smiled, but he didn't move any more.

John just stopped.

And all hell broke loose.

Sherlock screamed.


	4. Let go

"He's alive."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped and his knees betrayed him. Mycroft reacted in a second, and held his brother tightly.

"My... What do I do? Why is he still having nightmares?" Sherlock buried his face in his brother's chest, his voice broken.

"You have to let go." Mycroft hated to say it; it wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear, and all he could do was hold him tighter when the younger man wouldn't let him go.

"What? Why? I don't..." Sherlock's breathing became harsh. Mycroft acted quickly and explained what he meant.

"Only for a while. Just let him go. You both need some space. After three years, with everything that he had gone through in all that time, you coming back like that was a terrible shock. I think that he's still afraid that you're not really here, that you're not real, that's he's just dreaming. He's panicking."

"How do you know?" Sherlock whispered. Mycroft only sighed.

"I see you two and I observe and deduce. You are too close, too happy to notice how you both try too hard to make everything seem like everything is alright, when we both know it really isn't."

"My..." Sherlock seemed to relax a bit, knowing that his older brother was right, and Mycroft patted his back comfortingly – though awkwardly at the same time; he wasn't used to being so... caring, especially for his brother.

"It's okay. It'll be okay. You have to believe it. You two are equally stubborn and strong."

They sat there silently, on the floor, until Sherlock seemed to slowly calm down.

"I've changed. All those years... I went through too much, My."

It was heartbreaking hearing Sherlock admit something so personal. Mycroft recalled only three other times when his brother had opened up to him like this, for anything!

"Yes, and I'm sure John has noticed it too. It may be part of the problem. You two will never be the same again, but... I'm sure that you two will find a way. You always do. Even if you have changed, it doesn't mean that you two are strangers to each other. But, don't push too hard, Sherlock. Let him go."

Sherlock nodded, though reluctantly. "Can I see him?"

"Of course. You're his next of kin." Mycroft grinned, as Sherlock looked at him in shock.

"What? Oh god. Does everyone here think that we're..."

"Probably." Mycroft chuckled and helped his brother up.

"John hates it." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"He can deal with it. He always deals with it, when you don't."

"I don't mind it. I don't think it matters. But John..."

"Did you ever notice that he stopped correcting people? About you two, I mean?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock stopped and slowly shook his head – an action that was also unfamiliar to the Holmes brothers. "No. I didn't."

"Hmm. Go. He's awake, and waiting for you."

* * *

_BETA = LOZZABLUEBELL x_


	5. Guiet night

It was two o'clock at night, and John was barely awake when Sherlock came and sat beside his bed. It was silent. Only the heart monitor's steady rhythm could be heard. John slowly reached out for his hand, and Sherlock wrapped his fingers round his gently.

"Why did you come back to live with me?" Sherlock asked. It was a simple question he'd wanted to know since the beginning. John, who had been so mad at him. John, who had screamed, refused to speak to him, and then finally made a huge hand-shaped mark on his cheek. But John, who had also forgiven him for his stupidity. John smiled and shook his head, surprised at how Sherlock could ask such a question so bluntly. Although, the weeks after his return had been hard... for both of them.

"Sherlock, who wants to live with someone like me?"

"Mary..." Sherlock started, but John's disappointed look stopped him.

"We broke up, like you already know, because of my..." John trailed off, too pained to talk about it. "Even she couldn't tolerate it... It just broke her slowly, and I was afraid that I would end up hurting her one night," John said quietly, remembering the woman who had been happy to even take the risk. But John himself had been just too afraid to sacrifice the one he loved because of it. And Sherlock... Sherlock still blamed himself for it.

"I caused those nightmares. I should have known..."

"No, Sherlock. My nightmares, which have always been there, because of the war, not you. Your... death, just brought them back to the surface again. And now, you're back. And I know that you're the only one that I could never hurt, and you're always the one who seems to put me at ease. I missed you so much. I missed your violin, even when it did wake me up at ridiculous hours in the morning. I missed those nights that I couldn't sleep, but I knew that you were there, so I knew I wasn't alone. Even when you were in your mind palace, I knew I wasn't alone. And, oddly enough, most of the time I was so exhausted – from running around after you all day on cases – that all I wanted to do was sleep. And even though you didn't acknowledge that I was grateful... Look, I never got to thank you, you know?

Sherlock closed his eyes, leaned over John's hand, and leant his forehead against it gently. Warm hand; alive. They were both alive. There was hope. He hated the idea of leaving John again, but Mycroft was right. This time.

"Maybe I should go for a while..."

"I'll go, not you," John interrupted quickly, clearly thinking the same thing. "Never you again. I want to know that you're in Baker Street, at home."

"You'll come back?" Sherlock demanded, not daring to look at John, just studying his heartbeats. Steady, strong heartbeats.

"I don't think I can live anywhere else any more," John sighed, already missing Baker Street, HIS home as well. He slowly raced a hand and swiped a piece of Sherlock's hair out of his eyes gently. "I'll be back soon. We can phone and text like always until then. Actually, I don't think I'd be able to live without those annoying messages. That way I know that... you're alive. That you really are here. That... you haven't gone again.

"But you're coming back soon?" Sherlock wanted to know. He desperately wanted to hear that John would be back someday, sometime soon.

"Yes. Someone has to keep an eye on you." John smiled and closed his eyes. He was tired. He could see that Sherlock was tired too. He felt his friend's – no, his brother's – grip loosening a bit.

"Thank you. For waiting for me..." Sherlock murmured, almost asleep now, exhausted from strong emotions.

"That's what friends are for," John whispered back.

That night, he never had any nightmares.

#

_AN; Ah, there it was. Thank you so much everyone. I hope you liked it. It's a bit of an open ending, but mostly because I don't know if there will be a Johnlock sequel someday (IF someone actually wants that and there seems to be). I didn't want to do this story like that though. Just strong friendship. Not everyone wants to read J/S stories, although I love those (grins). Argh, busy busy busy, like always._

_Thanks again, (and thank you to Lozzabluebell, who beta-read this whole story for me)_


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